by Bruce Hale
ALSO BY BRUCE HALE
School for S.P.I.E.S. Book 1: Playing with Fire
School for S.P.I.E.S. Book 2: Thicker than Water
Text copyright © 2015 by Bruce Hale
Illustrations copyright © 2015 by Brandon Dorman
Cover design by Sammy Yuen
Cover illustration © 2015 by Brandon Dorman
All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.
ISBN 978-1-4231-8787-5
Visit www.DisneyBooks.com
Contents
Title Page
Also by Bruce Hale
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: How to Snatch a Boy Genius
Chapter 2: A Touch of Frost
Chapter 3: Cheese Teeth Bars the Way
Chapter 4: Hot Sausages and Karate Chops
Chapter 5: The English Muffin Gambit
Chapter 6: Hide and Creep
Chapter 7: Doing the Dead Drop
Chapter 8: The Short End of the Styx
Chapter 9: Loo Confessions
Chapter 10: Wynken, Blynken, and Gnawed
Chapter 11: Walking the Mop
Chapter 12: A Right Pair of Berks
Chapter 13: No Stews Is Good Stews
Chapter 14: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Max
Chapter 15: The Big Bounce
Chapter 16: Nights in Black Spandex
Chapter 17: Hard Cell
Chapter 18: A Sticky Situation
Chapter 19: The Jet-Pack Getaway
Chapter 20: S.P.I.E.S.: One, LOTUS: Nil
Chapter 21: Guerrillas in the Mist
Chapter 22: Big Hack Attack
Chapter 23: An Alarming Tour
Chapter 24: All Locked Up and Nowhere to Go
Chapter 25: The Lion’s Leap
Chapter 26: The Cat Whisperer
Chapter 27: ...And Throw Away the Key
Chapter 28: Normal Is Overrated
SPY TRAINING—Making a Dead Drop without Getting Caught
Acknowledgments
About the Author and Illustrator
This one’s for Carole and Terry
MAX SEGREDO was quietly going stark, raving bonkers. Not only was his orphanage home destroyed and everyone he cared about missing, maybe even dead, but now he was working with the very people responsible for wrecking his life.
Stressful? Oh, just a tad. Frustrating? You might say that.
Having to smile and nod and pretend to support LOTUS’s wicked plans after what they’d done to him was enough to make anyone go bonkers. Being a double agent, Max reflected, was definitely not for the faint of heart.
Max was sitting with two LOTUS spies in an unmarked van, on a quiet side street, waiting to kidnap a boy genius named Addison Rook. It was the sort of classic spy mission most agents would leap at. Not Max. All he wanted now was to be a normal kid with a normal family—far, far away from there.
But duty was duty, especially when the person who had sent you undercover was the closest thing you had to a mother.
“I can’t believe the guv’nor trusted you with this job,” muttered Humphrey Wall from the driver’s seat. A mahogany-brown, V-shaped man, he wore a perpetually pinched expression that made him look like an evil catalog model with intestinal distress.
“Why not trust me?” said Max. “I’ve got an honest face.”
“And a devious little mind,” said Dijon LeStrange, the van’s third occupant. With her honey-blond hair and pale skin, she was the perfect complement to Humphrey—lovely and lethal, as hard as a fistful of brass knuckles.
“Hey, I joined LOTUS of my own free will,” said Max.
“Sure,” Dijon drawled. “After we chased you halfway across the city and cornered you on a rooftop.”
Max shrugged, his face carefully blank. “My mistake. I thought you were child welfare workers.”
The walkie-talkie in Dijon’s hand crackled with static. A deep voice rumbled, “C Team, status update?”
“Ready to roll,” said Dijon.
“And the boy?” said the radio voice, which Max knew belonged to an über-spy named Ebelskeever.
Dijon glanced back over her shoulder at Max and sneered. “Ready as he’ll ever be. Looks exactly like a private-school prat.”
“Hey,” Max objected. But without much heat. He sported the uniform—blue blazer, hideous maroon tie, and gray trousers—that the boys at Addison Rook’s school wore. And in this getup, he had to admit, he did feel rather pratlike.
Max stifled a sigh. The mood in the LOTUS van was as tense and serious as a daylong dental surgery, so unlike the buoyant team spirit that had marked his previous missions for S.P.I.E.S. But those days were behind him now. Perhaps forever.
His mind drifted as Ebelskeever checked in with the other units. Even several days after LOTUS’s devastating raid on his group’s safe house, Max still couldn’t believe that S.P.I.E.S. (Systematic Protection, Intelligence, & Espionage Services—and yes, a rather obvious name for a spy organization) was no more.
He could almost hear his spymaster—brusque, bighearted Hantai Annie Wong—chiding him for his sentimentality. She was the one, after all, who had ordered him to join LOTUS if the opportunity arose, and bring them down from the inside. But she’d never told him what to do if S.P.I.E.S. itself dissolved. That last twist was making it very difficult for Max to focus on his mission.
Instead, he kept recalling Cinnabar’s golden eyes, Wyatt’s cheerful attitude, Mr. Stones’s teasing sarcasm. Would he never experience these things, never see his friends, again? How was it possible to find and lose a family so quickly?
Humphrey’s gruff voice interrupted his reverie. “Look lively, boy. The pigeon’s on the move.”
Max peered through the windshield at the intersection just ahead. Any minute now, Addison Rook would motor past in his sporty red BMW. Any minute now, the four LOTUS teams would spring into action like a ravenous wolf pack descending on a baby bunny.
The boy genius didn’t stand a chance.
Scooting over on the bench seat, Max rested a hand on the door latch. He felt a pang as strong as hunger, a longing to slip outside and disappear into the gloomy November morning—far from Humphrey, Dijon, and the rest of their corrupt organization. Even an uncaring foster family would be an improvement. All he had to do was step out the door and…
“Here he comes,” growled Ebelskeever on the radio. “C Team, release Segredo.”
“Copy that,” said Dijon.
Humphrey half turned in the seat to glare at him. “You’re up, boy. And don’t try nuffin’ funny.”
“What, like my Bart Simpson impression?” said Max.
The broad-shouldered man glowered. “You know what I mean. If we have to come chase you, I’ll be right peeved.”
Max snapped off a mock salute and opened the door.
“Be a good little spy,” Dijon drawled, as if she could read his mind. “We’ll be watching.”
The brisk morning air smelled of wood smoke and decaying leaves as Max scuffed his way up the sidewalk, book bag slung over one shoulder. It rankled that they didn’t trust him. True, he did intend to destroy their organization, but they didn’t know that.
Again, the urge to flee fluttered in his chest like a caged hummingbird. Despite their threats, he could probably lose the LOTUS agents in this rambling neighborhood of grand houses and stately trees. But for all Max knew, they’d slipped a tracking device into h
is clothes, and besides, if he ran now, he wouldn’t be able to use LOTUS’s considerable resources to locate his friends. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Hantai Annie saying one of her favorite phrases: “Gambare—go for it.” Wherever she was—assuming she was still alive—she was counting on him to fulfill his mission and find her again. So, somehow, he resisted his impulse to run.
Max shook his head. Too bad there wasn’t a textbook on the subject of operating undercover all by oneself. A little help from The Dummy’s Guide to Double Agents would come in quite handy about now.
He approached the intersection. This route lay only five blocks away from Addison Rook’s posh private school, but it was out of the main flow of morning commuters. LOTUS had picked their ambush spot with care.
And sure enough, only a sleepy dad in a shiny Peugeot could be seen on the road. Max reached the corner and glanced right. Here they came: LOTUS’s lead car, a charcoal-gray Mercedes, followed by Addison’s BMW. They tooled past him, and brake lights flared as the vehicles slowed for the stop sign a half block down.
Almost against his will, Max’s pulse quickened and his senses sharpened. True, he was only pretending to work for the bad guys, but a mission was a mission, after all.
He strolled up the sidewalk toward the cars. The Mercedes had stopped dead at the intersection. After a couple of seconds, the Beamer’s horn blasted, but the other vehicle didn’t budge.
Before Addison’s car could reverse and pull around it, a second LOTUS Mercedes, this one quartz blue, zipped past Max and squealed to a stop, barely tapping the BMW’s rear bumper. Now Addison was trapped, a regular whiz-kid sandwich.
Doors flew open on the LOTUS cars, and four agents in dusk-colored suits sprang out. Despite himself, Max admired the efficiency of the operation. Everything was unfolding with Swiss-watch timing, just as LOTUS’s chief, Mrs. Frost, had planned.
Then the watch popped its first spring.
Gunfire crackled from a rear window of the Beamer, and the LOTUS agents dodged back, surprised. Max squinted at the BMW. LOTUS surveillance had gotten it wrong. Addison wasn’t alone.
Now the curbside door burst open and a beefy Asian man with a buzz cut leaped out, weapon raised. Max recognized Lizard Eyes, his private nickname for Addison’s puffy-eyed bodyguard. He’d seen the man only last week, during S.P.I.E.S.’s mission to steal a mind-control device from Addison’s parents. The mission had been successful—if you didn’t count the fact that LOTUS had hijacked the invention for itself.
“Back off,” cried the bodyguard, covering the agents with his pistol. “And maybe I won’t kill you.”
A pale, spiky-haired teen dressed like Max climbed out of the other rear door.
Lizard Eyes’s head swiveled toward him. “Addison! Back in the car!”
Seizing on the distraction, one of the LOTUS agents whipped his arm forward. The bodyguard grunted and dropped his gun. A ninja throwing star, or shuriken, was now protruding from his forearm. The four spies rushed forward to grapple with Lizard Eyes and the white chauffeur.
Eyes wide, Addison backpedaled away from the melee. It appeared as though the spies hadn’t noticed him yet.
“Oi!” Max called, stepping into the street. “Over here!”
The teen glanced his way, and Max beckoned.
“I, er…” Addison frowned, hesitating. He looked as befuddled as a mongoose on ice.
Really? The kid couldn’t choose between being captured by bad guys and fleeing with a fellow student? Some genius.
“Run!” cried Max. He hustled across the street, toward a narrow alleyway between two houses, and gestured again.
At last, Addison recognized his predicament. He lurched into action, galumphing across the street to join Max. “What—?” he called.
“This way!” said Max, pulling at the other boy’s sleeve. “We’ve got to ditch them.”
Then LOTUS’s Swiss-watch plan blew a ratchet wheel.
With the wail of a siren, a blue-and-yellow-checked police car rounded the corner and squealed to a stop, blocking the first Mercedes. Two constables jumped out and leveled their Tasers over the top of their doors.
“Freeze!” cried the larger cop.
Addison wheeled around and took a halting step toward the police car. Max grimaced. The plan was falling apart!
Relief and worry warred in Max’s mind. Worry won. He caught Addison’s arm and spun him back. “No!”
“Why not?” said the boy genius. “They’re—”
“They could be in on it,” Max improvised.
Addison’s lip curled. “You’re dead from the neck up,” he scoffed.
“What, um, better way to separate you from your bodyguard? Everyone trusts cops.” Only with great effort did Max keep from wincing at his own words. It was one of the flimsiest explanations he’d ever concocted, and he’d concocted quite a few.
The teen wavered. The boom of gunshots decided him.
“Right, then. Follow me!” said Addison, trying to make it seem as though he was in charge.
Max rolled his eyes and trailed the older boy down the alley.
The brick walls rose beside them, and the pair splashed through puddles left by last night’s rain. In short order, Max could tell the boy genius was more accustomed to exercising his mind than his body. The teen’s pace grew as ragged as a pair of hand-me-down jeans. Just halfway along the passage, Addison slowed and glanced back at Max.
“Do I…know you?” he panted.
“Seen you around,” said Max. He glanced behind them. “Let’s keep moving.”
After a few more staggering paces, the teen slowed and turned back again. “Why are you…helping me?” he asked.
Max suppressed a surge of irritation and kept his expression open and concerned. “We go to the same school, don’t we? Can’t let some blokes kidnap a fellow Badger.”
Addison frowned. “But our mascot’s the hedgehog.”
“Right,” said Max. “I always get those two confused. Now come on.” He hooked Addison’s elbow and hurried him along.
But the older boy wasn’t finished with question time. His steps dragged even more. “Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe,” said Max, “where we can hide out and call the real cops.”
“But why—?”
“Let’s go!” Max snapped. “They could be right behind us.”
This thought spurred Addison back into action. Chalk-faced, he kept shooting glances behind them, as Max half dragged him down the alley.
“I don’t get…much exercise,” panted the boy genius.
“Really?” Max managed with a straight face. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”
At last, the end of the narrow passage appeared, but instead of a cross street, the boys glimpsed a ramp leading up to a shadowy doorway.
“Oh, no.” Addison faltered. “A dead end?”
“A safe hideout,” said Max, tugging the older boy up the ramp. The door was unlocked and swung open to his touch. The interior was dim.
Right on the threshold, Addison balked, a belated warning firing from his reptilian brain.
“Now see here,” he blustered. “I—”
Max had had enough. Planting his palms on Addison’s back, he shoved hard. “In you go!”
A massive, shadowy form seized the boy genius. A hypodermic syringe glinted in a stray beam of light.
“And down you go,” rumbled Mr. Ebelskeever.
MAX DARTED through the doorway and caught Addison under the arms as he slumped like a string-snipped marionette, unconscious. Ebelskeever stepped around them and closed the false-front door. A second LOTUS agent snapped on a work light, and in its harsh illumination Max saw that they stood in the cargo compartment of a good-size truck with its back end up against the partition.
Before he’d known Ebelskeever’s name, Max had privately dubbed him Gorilla Man; now that he knew the agent better, he realized that name was unfair. Gorillas were gentle giants. Ebelskeever, however, was a mass of m
urderous muscle—all brawny shoulders and killer instincts.
The big man hammered on the front wall of the cargo space. “Give us some room!” he boomed. The engine turned over and the truck rolled forward several feet, leaving a gap between the rear bumper and the fake wall.
“Seems like an awful lot of trouble just to kidnap one lousy boy genius,” said Max. He braced himself against Addison’s weight. The teen was heavier than he looked.
Ebelskeever barked a laugh. “And how else do you reckon we convince his parents to make us a new headpiece for the brain-control thingie? Ask ’em pretty please?”
“Well, I—”
“After you so carelessly took the bloody thing for a dip in the river?” Ebelskeever’s black eyes flashed under his heavy brow and his lips pressed flat. Did he know Max was a double agent?
The other agent, a bronze-skinned woman with pale green eyes, slipped her arms under Addison’s armpits and relieved Max of his burden.
“Get his feet,” she snapped.
“I didn’t mean to wreck it,” Max muttered to Ebelskeever as he and Green Eyes carried the unconscious teen over to a gurney and strapped him down. In a way, that was true—Max hadn’t intentionally destroyed that critical part of the invention; he had merely wanted to keep it away from LOTUS.
And now LOTUS had sorted out a way to obtain a replacement headset and make their brain-control device operational. Just a little friendly kidnapping, some gunplay on a suburban street, and then—hey, presto!—a new headpiece.
Next stop: world domination.
The massive man pounded twice on the truck cab’s inner wall. “Switch!” he bellowed. Max heard the truck’s cab door open. “Come on, Segredo. You’re riding up front with me, where I can keep an eye on you.”
Max and Ebelskeever hopped out of the rear of the cargo compartment. After a third LOTUS agent stepped around the side of the truck and joined Green Eyes in the back, he and the big man pulled the truck’s rear panel down and secured it.
“We’re leaving this fake wall and door?” asked Max, jerking his head at the barrier behind them.
“Yup.”
“Won’t someone be suspicious?”